One-Way Mirror
by StormyNight108
Summary: Post-Reichenbach one-shot. It's been months since the incident, where a man lost his best friend. Slowly but surely, John's life is starting to turn up a little. That night, his blog is updated to share good news to his followers, and one anonymous commentator is quick to share his happiness. It's about as close to his friend as he can get right now. No slash.


_**October 7th, 11:36PM**_

**_Blog Entry:_****_ A New Beginning_**

_Today has been a very good day to me. Thank you to all on my blog who has been giving your moral support, and in the end it has paid off. I start my new job next week. Though things have been rough-_

John paused. The apartment felt small. The windows were closed, though he was starting to get cold. His fingers grew numb on the keyboard, and he re-read the small portion he had written, keeping a sharp eye for spelling mistakes. Though at the same time, he wondered what he was trying to say. There was no remembrance to starting this new post, though he felt obligated to share his good news, and found himself typing away nonetheless. He wondered how to finish this sentence. In the end, he backspaced and started the new thought over.

_It has been hard, as I've talked about before. Thankfully, things are beginning to turn around in my life. Something I am truly grateful for. I've made new friends along the way, and followers of this blog, you have been more than helpful to me in my time of need. I appreciate every kind word, and I thank you for sticking with me._

His keyboard was getting hot in his lap. Shifting it forward so that it sat in the cushions of the bed, he leaned back and curled his hands in front of him. Resting his chin on his knuckles, he bit his lip and hovered over the post button. What was he forgetting? Nothing. A soft click of the laptop mouse pad, and his blog was updated with this new entry.

Honestly, he was excited. It had been so long since he had gotten good news. This new job would be very good to him, he knew. Turning out of his bed, he walked slowly across his room to the door to head downstairs. It was getting late, but he wasn't tired. Before his foot could enter the stairwell, he heard a _ping _behind him.

Silence filled the atmosphere and he virtually froze. That was the sound made when someone commented. So soon? Well, the blog had gotten immensely popular. He didn't know what drove him back into his room, but he was very interested in what the followers had to say.

_Comment made: 11:42 Oct 7__th_

_RE: Good to hear you're doing well! Good luck with your new job; I hope it pays well._

John Watson smiled softly. He didn't respond to his comments. He never did. He got far too many and it would take far too long. So with a simple movement, he closed the head of his laptop without a second thought and with a lifted heart, turned to exit the room downstairs. Any other comments, he could read later. For now, he would try to enjoy this good news with some downtime.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes sat criss-crossed on his bed. His hands mirroring each other, fingertips resting at his lips, he was still. It was deathly silent. Before him sat his laptop, his screen illuminating the darkness.

With a soft heart, he closed his eyes to take a few calming breaths. His mind was racing. To be fair, his thoughts were always moving at swift pace. There wasn't much to think, other than the homesickness he felt. Sherlock wished he could go home. Wished he could waltz up to John and apologize. There were things he realized that needed apologizing. And things he needed to thank John for. Too much left unsaid.

He died the death of a coward.

And John still believed him. Even after his supposed death.

The closest he could come to communicating with John was by keeping up with his blog. Granted, he never read his posts before this whole incident. But to tell him things, anonymously of course, and know for sure that John read his comments, was all he could do. He was always careful though, disguising his comments. Masking his words to make him seem like all the other commentators. Didn't want to try anything funny. It wasn't his fault John didn't respond to comments. _He_ sure wouldn't want to sit on an internet site all day responding to common idiots and their opinions on everything. He already had enough people around him for that.

Speaking of. Everyone seemed to have vanished for the day, lost in their own work. Sherlock was virtually on his own. Though he knew the rules, not to leave unless absolutely necessary, there was no sense in breaking them. He wished he could walk the streets freely again. Oh, the little things he took for granted. One day, things will be back to normal.

He hoped.

He reached a nimble hand out, closing his laptop and surrounding himself in darkness to rest another night in a home far too unfamiliar.


End file.
